


by Her touch I was made pure

by charmedatmidnight



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Rutherford Smut, Cullen Smut, Cullenlingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9567872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedatmidnight/pseuds/charmedatmidnight
Summary: Cullen writes a dirty letter to his Inquisitor.      (non-specific female Inquisitor)





	

Inquisitor,

Enclosed is an updated report on the metals gathered from the Emerald Graves. My men have gathered enough Stormheart to requisition better weapons for a majority of the troops. If we extend the operation a mere week or two, we would likely be able to gather the Stormheart necessary to provide every man and woman with new, better weapons. It would grant us a small advantage to fight our enemies with stronger, sturdier weapons. Of course, I would prefer Silverite, but I can lead a group of men to Emprise du Lion or the Arbor Wilds at some later time.

If you are returning to the Hissing Wastes before you return to Skyhold, gather some samples of Nevarrite that we may use to requisition new armour.

I apologize. I only hoped by now that my report would have deterred the prying eyes of Dorian or the Bull. Your companions are nothing if not meddlesome. I pray that this reaches you, and that you are well.

I did accompany my men to the Emerald Graves, in hopes that you would return to Skyhold by the time we arrived back, but Leliana reported that you are further scouting the Storm Coast after the reports of Darkspawn. A noble effort, indeed, even if I had hoped to see you sooner. I request that you return to Skyhold before travelling elsewhere, if you are able, but, of course, the Inquisition takes priority; though sometimes I wish it did not. I had never before noticed how...drafty my quarters can be at night, but I hadn't the honor of your flesh pressed against mine to ward off the cold. I hadn't the privilege of your body tight in my arms, of _you_ tight around me.

Forgive me; as I write, my hand trembles. I have never...written to someone such as this before. But your letter inspired me, Inquisitor, as you have a way of doing. It...awoke things in me, conjured up images that have kept me company while you're away.

Too many nights I have lain in my bed - restless and staring up at the stars I can see through the ceiling - and too many night I have thought of you, _missed_ you, and pulled out your letter from beneath my pillow. I have read your words over and over, and they never fail to ignite a fire deep within me. I read them again, tonight, and I have not once stopped thinking about you and the things you do to me.

Maker's breath, my hand is fighting to guide itself beneath the sheets and relieve the burn, the _ache_ you have caused, even in your absence.

I think I shall - as I too often have - and I will think of you.

I will think of your body beneath mine, small and lithe, your mouth pressed to mine, your breath warm against my lips. I will think of the way you move beneath me - that way you shift and wiggle and try to press yourself up into me when you want more - and I will smile. My hand will wrap around myself, light and gentle, as I think of the way I meet your center, pressing down and hearing that soft, _sweet_ moan, breathy and _mine_. I can imagine it now: your thighs parting, spreading, inviting me closer, deeper, _inside_.

Oh, Maker help me, I cannot resist you, nor would I ever want to. I will think of how easily you part for me, how sweetly you sound when I slide my fingers into you, and my hand will move over myself, tight and slow. You are beautiful like that, my love, and I could watch you as my fingers move within you for as long as the Maker would allow. I will think of drawing your moans from you, the begging and pleading for more. You always beg for more, and I will not deny you.

I will think of lying between your parted thighs, your hands in my hair, my mouth upon your flesh - a prelude, or perhaps everything; I will give it all to you. I will think of how sweet you taste upon my tongue and how your hips feel beneath my fingertips, writhing and rolling and yearning for more. My hand will move over myself faster, and I will think of how you hold me in place and use me to please yourself, my groans muffled against you. Andraste guide me, I will please you, my love. I will make you cry out. I will not leave you wanting; though you are always wanting.

And I will think of how you are still not sated, and how in the throes of your pleasure you will say you want more, _need_ more. I will give you what you need, my love.

I will push into you, and I will hold you close, bury my face in your neck, kissing you again and again and again. You are sweet and tight and warm, and I forget about the chill in the air around us. I forget about everything outside of us. Skyhold, the war, the world falls away; there is only you.

You will claw at my back, cling to me, and I will push into you over and over. You are good, my love, you take me so well. You are so sweet, too perfect. I can _not_ get enough, even as the burn is quenched and I empty myself into you. But I will not stop until you are again crying out and squeezing around me and keeping me closer, closer. I will stay close, within you, for as long as you allow.

_"Her touch was like fire that did not burn. And by Her touch, I was made pure again."_

I would whisper the Chant of Light across your skin, if you would allow me. Slowly, in its entirety, only pausing to please you, and I would savor every moment. Days, weeks would pass - our only indication of time being the sun and stars passing above the hole in the ceiling. It would only be us, and I would thank Andraste for sending you to me.

I pray that this finds you before long, and I pray that you return soon. Do forgive me if I have made you ache as you have done to me; I swear I will make it up to you upon your return.

Be safe, Inquisitor.

Yours,  
Cullen

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: the Chant of Light, if recited from beginning to end, would actually take weeks. So, that's what he's alluding to in that last part. But I hope you all enjoyed it! Comments and feedback always welcome!


End file.
